Behind the Curtain
by TheSummerNightingale
Summary: Welcome to a collection of one-shots about minor characters or pairings in the Harry Potter series. Step up and delve into the lives of characters whose stories were never really told - just hidden behind the curtain.
1. Charity Burbage: Her Purpose

****Hey, guys! Summer here :) As you can see, this is going to be a collection of fics that I write for minor characters (the term 'minor' applying rather loosely) from here on out. It'll range from people like… say, Lockhart to the Outer Circle Death Eater members to Marlene McKinnon.****

****And for this chapter, it's Charity Burbage, the Muggle Studies professor killed by Voldemort in the ********Deathly Hallows********. The topic for QFLC Round 5 that I am using is "in her favourite class". WORD COUNT: 1,190****

****Title: Her Purpose****

****Hope you enjoy!****

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><p>Charity Burbage was always fascinated by Muggles.<p>

Never mind the fact that she was a witch, one who could light a room with a flick of her wand, or levitate an object with a single word. No, Muggles were the real magic in the world, because somehow, without the power of wands, they had flourished and thrived to the point where they lived life in relative ease.

Charity let out a sigh of admiration as she opened her Muggle Studies book. She was an avid fan of Charms and Potions, but this… this study of some of the most remarkable beings in the world was her favourite.

"Alright, alright, take your seats," Professor Morel, the Muggle Studies professor, trilled. "Excellent. Now, who is absent? Mr. Harrington? Okay. Miss Lyte?" He quickly marked down the two names onto a piece of parchment.

"Both of them got hurt in the recent Quidditch game, Professor," Charity explained.

"Ah, right. Shame," he said, shaking his head. "We're learning about a fascinating system today that Muggles have developed. Does anyone remember the name?"

Charity's hand confidently flew into the air.

"Yes, Miss Burbage?" Morel's eyes crinkled with amusement. It was obvious to the class that Charity was his favourite student, not that there were many to choose from.

"Electricity," Charity said with reverence.

"Excellent. Miss Perdell, would you mind collecting last night's homework? Thank you." As a girl with mousy brown hair stepped up to gather the rolls of parchment on the uses of what Muggles called 'rubber ducks', Professor Morel tapped the chalkboard. "Who can tell me what electricity does? Miss Burbage?"

For Charity had already had her hand up in the air, waving it with passion and excitement. "Oh, it does what torches do for us! It creates light, so that the Muggles can see during the night. It's ingenious really. Most of the time, all they've got to do is flick on a switch, and the room will light up!"

"Very good," Morel commented.

Julia Perdell raised her hand, having collected the homework and placing it on their professor's desk. "Professor? Would elec-eletri-eleli-"

"Electricity," Charity supplied helpfully.

"Yes, electriticiticy," Julia nodded. "Is it the thing that powers what we learned about the computers?"

"It most certainly does, through a series of plugs, which are…"

The class continued in this manner of discussion, neither formal nor informal, with Julia and Charity switching off with their questions, and Morel answering them with enthusiasm.

After what seemed only like a few minutes, but in truth was an hour, the bell rang and Professor Morel looked up at the clock in vague surprise.

"Oh, my! Time flew by, didn't it? Well, I suppose there's no use in giving homework tonight, since half of us are gone. Class is dismissed!" Morel said, clapping his hands. "I do hope Mr. Harrington and Miss Lyte come in tomorrow. It was rather quiet today, don't you think?"

"It's rather quiet always," Charity murmured. "Compared to our other classes."

And Julia and Charity stood up as the only two students in the Muggle Studies classroom, waving goodbye to their Muggle Studies teacher, who looked pained at the reminder.

"Feel sort of bad for him, don't you think?" Julia whispered.

"Yes. I would think, though, that more people would study Muggles. They're so… fascinating! Can't people see that they're our equals in everything except that they've not gotten wands?"

"Shame," Julia agreed emphatically. "If only more people took the class…!"

Later that night, Charity lay in her bed while reading up on a book she had borrowed about electricity. It was absolutely captivating. The way Muggles had developed such a complex system was astounding, and not for the first time, Charity found herself wondering who was truly more developed - the wizards or the Muggles.

It was this thought that began the creation of her purpose.

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><p>"Excellent, Miss Burbage. You seem very knowledgeable in this subject. There is just one more question I must ask you." Albus Dumbledore clasped his hand on his desk and leaned forward.<p>

"Ask away," Charity chirped, feeling much more confident after how well the rest of her interview for being the new Hogwarts' Muggle Studies teacher went.

"What is your purpose in teaching this subject?"

Charity opened her mouth to speak, but the thoughts that were jumbled up in her brain refused to be coherent. "Well," she began, struggling to pin down a point of her passion, but failing. "Well, I'd like to teach these next generations of witches and wizards that we are not the only beings on this earth, and that we share the world with a remarkable group of people that have learned to cope without magic."

She smiled hesitantly, unsure if she should continue, but Albus nodded approvingly and said, "Thank you, Miss Burbage. You have left an excellent impression on me, and will be informed of whether you got the position or not in precisely a week."

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><p>When the letter from Hogwarts arrived at Charity's window, carried by a school barn owl, it took her a minute to read the letter and make an instantaneous decision. She scribbled a note back to Professor Dumbledore, all while forgetting about her steadily burning eggs.<p>

It was the start of her purpose.

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><p>Over the years of working in the classroom, commanding it like her own professor had, Charity had the incredible opportunity to teach many different types of students.<p>

The beginning was admittedly rough, with only ten students enrolled in her class. But as the years flew by, more and more students started to take Muggle Studies, which, of course, delighted her to no end.

She had the opportunity to teach young Arthur Weasley, an ambitious young pureblood whose passion for the subject was just as fervored as hers. Then years later, she taught a motivated Muggleborn student by the name of Hermione Granger, who truly brought a new level of meaning to being "Muggleborn".

All in all, Charity's career was a success up until the very day she died.

When she was unceremoniously taken from her house by men wearing dark masks and flowing, black robes, Charity knew she was going to die. She knew it when she was strung upside down from the ceiling of a Pureblood manor, and she knew it when the people with faces she had not seen printed in the newspaper for more than seventeen years filed in, sneering at her helpless body.

She was scared. Yet, as the green light from You-Know-Who's wand hurtled at her from halfway across the dark, dark chamber, Charity felt only one regret.

She regretted that she had not been able to make her mark on some of these younger Death Eaters, who were certainly young enough to have once been her students, before they were Marked on their left forearms.

But even as the laughs of the jeering Death Eaters reached her ears, Charity was certain that her life purpose had been at least sensible if not also morally correct, and she hoped with all she had left that her legacy and her purpose, however little, would live on.


	2. Lyall Lupin: For My Son

**Hey everyone! This is a letter from Lyall Lupin to Greyback about Remus being bitten. **

**Written for the Hunger Games Competition: HG Quote 5 – "Destroying things is much easier than making them."**

**Written for QFLC as a reserve for Beater 2 of the Tornados**

**Word Count (without A/N): 1,213**

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><p><em>To Greyback<em>

_You __foul__, despicable, wretched being. I cannot even begin to express how much I still loathe you, how much anger your simplistic name still elicits from me, and what wrath I still feel towards you whenever I look at my son. You have long since bitten him, but every day we are reminded of your vile act that has bestowed, upon my son, a lifetime of misery._

_My son…my young, innocent son. It has been a few years since you bit him and he has grown to understand how difficult life will now be for him. Just yesterday, he approached us to say, "Mum… Dad… If you don't want to live in the same house as me, I understand." _

_My Remus said that. He actually asked if we wanted to throw him out – he said he would understand, that he would leave without being asked twice! Merlin, what can a parent _say_ to such a thing? _

_He is nine. Nine. This is why I am writing this letter, so you can see that you have left a deep, gashing mark on not just my son, but all of us._

_I'll bet you will rejoice at knowing how much pain you have caused us. But I…apologize for the remark I made about lycanthropes. Not so much for you, but for my son, because I cannot hate the being that he has now become. _

_He is maimed, he is condemned to a life of loathing and terror because you thought it funny to bite him – was it really _necessary_? Did you really need to prey on my child just for a small slur of mine, bite him for the fun of it – is this a joke to you?! Well, I suppose destroying things is much easier than making them, and you've always liked the easy way out. But let me tell you, Greyback, that it is not a joke to me. My son… my Remus… because of your selfish pastimes and cruel, empty heart, he is now a werewolf._

_You obviously don't have children, or you would know the pain of having your child be condemned to such a life. Well, maybe you're the exception – you are certainly the foulest, coldest being I've the misfortune to hear about – and you wouldn't be able to feel anything anyway. _

_I am now certain that you have been prejudiced as well. I understand. But to inflict that same future onto others – onto children, onto my Remus – is something I can't make sense of. Did you want others to feel the same pain you did? Did you wish for people to understand the prejudice you face? It is at the price of innocent lives, but I suppose it doesn't matter much for you anyway._

_My son has always wanted to be an Auror, you know. He has for the longest time, since he first heard of them at age 4. But a few weeks ago, he came up to my wife and me and said, "I changed my mind. I think I'll just do something quieter." And when we asked why, he said, "I wouldn't be around people as much."_

_He is giving up his dreams, Greyback. Because of you, my son will never become an Auror because he is too scared that he will hurt people. Every full moon, he begs us to avoid him a few days before the actual night of the full moon, just in case the transformation begins earlier. He is scared, but he will not show it. I am scared as well, for what he will have to face._

_I will remind you that he is nine, Greyback. Remus… my son. He is only nine. He is too young, much too young to be a victim to your lifelong curse._

_The neighbors fear him. Many have moved out because they discovered that our young boy is a half-breed. Many more have set curses to our name because we have not yet moved away to somewhere isolated. Remus is well accustomed to glares sent his way. The children on the block are ushered in by their parents whenever our son goes outside; his friends no longer are interested in playing with him. Remus is utterly isolated._

_If this is how it is like in a neighborhood he has grown up in, with the people who once invited us all to dinner now slamming doors in our faces, how will it be when he goes off into the world? When he goes to school, if he will even be permitted to? _

_Do you see what you have done, Greyback? Remus's life is hanging on only a couple of decisions now. If schools decide it's too dangerous for him to attend, he will have a homeschooled education. When he grows up, people will not hire him because of his condition. He will not easily find a job. Our son's life… only a true twist of fate can save Remus from a lifetime of misery._

_Remus… I still remember holding his small hand in mine as we watched you scamper off into your forest, howling your delight at having bitten my son. And I will never forget how I watched as his brown eyes followed your path and how I discovered, to my surprise, that there was no anger in them. _

_He was not angry at you, Greyback. There was pity. Pity, even as his arm bled where you had bitten him. Pity, even when he was informed that every month at the new moon he would turn into a werewolf. My son pities you._

_You have damaged the life of an extraordinary soul, Greyback. You have forced upon him a life of hatred, where he will only know the harshness of cold shoulders and raw prejudice. And perhaps Remus understands that you may have gone through the same, and I do as well, but unlike my son, my loyal and brave son who thankfully will not grow up to be like you, I cannot forgive you and I don't pity you._

_I loathe you, Greyback. I want to kill you. I do. _

_Because of you, I cannot look Remus in the eyes anymore, and he thinks it is because I am ashamed of him because he is now a werewolf, that I don't want to associate with him because he is a half-breed. He thinks I am disappointed that my only child is now disabled. He thinks I wish he were not my son at all._

_But in truth… I don't look my son in the eye because of the guilt I feel for leaving him out there in the first place, for the fact that it is _my _fault for having him bitten and that it is _my_ fault he is like this._

_And I should have killed you before you could kill the lives of other innocent children. I should have… I should have tortured you like Remus will be tortured in the years of prejudice sure to come, and if I failed, then I should have died rather than watched you run away, I should have died in Remus's honor because you… you _despicable_, evil person… you made my son a __werewolf__._

_I will never forgive you for it. _

_Lyall Lupin_


	3. Voldemort's Soul: The Albanian Forest

****Hello everyone! This is written for Round 7 of the QLFC. Also written for the Hunger Games Competition, for President Snow's prompt!****

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><p>The first human to see Lord Voldemort after his fall is a Muggle woman.<p>

She is far too absorbed in her business of tending to a young bird with a broken wing, a useless act that disgusts Lord Voldemort above the fact that she is a Muggle, to catch sight of him, but when she enters the clearing, she pulls on her shawl and adjusts her sweater.

"Come, little bird," says the woman, kneeling to the ground. The soothing tone makes Lord Voldemort angry.

"_He will die_." The high, cold sound is no more than a whisper, but it takes much of his energy and more. The darkness envelops him, welcoming their lord with open arms.

The panic on the woman's face as she stands up gives Lord Voldemort pleasure as he has not felt in nine years.

"Who's there?" calls the woman. Her voice is high as well, but from raw fear.

"_The bird will die_."

The Muggle shakes, her eyes darting from left to right, though it is impossible to make sight of anything in the shadows of the dark trees and she knows it.

"_A fine Gryffindor you would make_," Lord Voldemort says.

To her everlasting credit, the Muggle woman does not back down. "I - Who are you? Sh-show yourself!"

"_Show myself_?" Lord Voldemort does not normally follow Muggle orders, but it's been years since he has had this opportunity.

The woman screams. She turns back to the path she has come from, leaving the bird with the broken wing behind to chirp feebly and wonder where its saviour has gone.

When the woman reaches the village, she will tell them about a monster, a terrible beast with a terribly high-pitched voice, hiding within the concealment of the forest. She will explain in depth the cold, empty face, if it can even be called that, that is both haunting and ensnaring in the most repulsive way. She will repeat the words of Lord Voldemort, though they will be altered through her panic-stricken tremors.

She will be dismissed as a fool; the poor thing has most tragically lost her mind.

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><p>The second person to see Lord Voldemort is, quite ironically, the former Muggle Studies professor at Hogwarts.<p>

Lord Voldemort knows the man is coming to speak to him the minute the former professor steps into the Albanian forest. He lets the man wander and wonder for a week before making his appearance, deeming him at least clever enough for knowing the approximate location of Lord Voldemort, for sensing his presence, and, most importantly, for searching for him.

"_What do you seek_?"

Quirinus Quirrell jumps a foot in the air, barely landing on his clumsy feet before collapsing into a kneel. "My lord, is it really you?"

It has been ages since he has heard someone address him with such reverence, and Lord Voldemort laughs.

"_Quirinus Quirrell. What possibly could you seek from me_?"

Voldemort knows that Quirrell is not shaking with excitement; he is shaking with fear. He is well aware that Quirrell is weak; however, this gives him hope. Lord Voldemort is stronger now. Perhaps Quirrell can be of use.

"My-my lord," quavers Quirrell. "I wanted to know - to ask of you -"

"_You dare ask me of something while you are aware of my current form_?"

Quirrell actually squeals in terror, a sound that Voldemort has only associated with Peter Pettigrew, but he supposes that in nine years something is always bound to change.

"No! No, of course not, my lord," Quirrell blubbers. He kisses the ground in front of him despite the fact that it is ridden with dried leaves and dead bugs.

"_I am on your left side_," Voldemort says amusedly.

"Oh - yes, of course." Quirrell turns his body, though his eyes do not even flick upwards. It is obvious that he is afraid of what he will see.

"_You are cowardly, are you not_?"

"I - my lord - no, I -"

"_Stop. I do not wish to hear your senseless excuses. Yet it is true that you have searched for me, which is more than I can say for some of my...followers. However, there is little that I believe you could give me in return for my services…_"

"I will give anything for your secrets," Quirrell says, further prostrating himself before Voldemort. "Everything." But he is still shaking and his eyes have not left the ground, as if there is something much more riveting on the ground as opposed to seeing Lord Voldemort in the flesh (though it cannot really be called flesh).

"_There is but naught you could give me. You are a coward. You are not capable of what my Death-Eaters could do. You are no longer staff at Hogwarts, but even if you were, I would not prefer someone who spends their lives teaching about _Muggles…"

"Oh, but my lord, there is an opening at Hogwarts!" says Quirrell, his black eyes shining with delight at the prospect of actually being of use to Voldemort.

"_What position_?"

"Defense Against the Dark Arts," breathes out Quirrell.

"_I would have thought that Severus would take it,_" murmurs Voldemort. "_Very well. Secure the job._"

"Yes! Yes, of course I will," says Quirrell, relieved he has not been killed yet.

"_Quirrell. Look up._"

For a moment, it seems that Voldemort's new recruit will not oblige. His eyes actually squeeze shut for a moment, and if Voldemort had eyebrows, they would raise beyond his hairline. But then the black irises are visible, and Quirinus Quirrell's eyes lift from the ground, slowly, very slowly.

From that day on, his speech is never the same.

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><p>Peter Pettigrew is the third to grace Lord Voldemort's presence, and he brings along with him a blubbering woman by the name of Bertha Jorkins.<p>

"My lord," says Peter, prodding the woman with his wand. "My lord."

"Wormtail." Speech is easy for him now. Lord Voldemort is stronger, stronger than he has been for thirteen years.

"My lord!" Peter falls to the ground. The woman freezes at the sound of Voldemort's voice.

"You are a traitor."

"No! My lord, I only -"

"Pathetic."

"- please, my lord -"

"Useless."

"- please, I brought Bertha Jorkins -"

"You have only come to me because there is nowhere else for you to go."

"No, my lord, it isn't true, it isn't!" Peter squeaks.

"Do not interrupt me!"

"Yes, my lord!"

"You are here because you're afraid of your old school friends… But why? Why not go into their warm embrace, embrace the werewolf and escaped prisoner? Or are they too angry that you are responsible for the deaths of Lily and James Potter? Peter Pettigrew," the Dark Lord laughs before his face contorts into absolute anger, "you dare come here when you are responsible for my downfall?!"

"No!" wails Peter, using a spell to shift Bertha Jorkins so that the woman is in front of him. It is a cowardly sight - the captor hiding behind his prisoner. He trembles.

"I am merciful, Wormtail. Because of that, and because you have had the stroke of genius to bring this woman here, you will live."

"Thank you, my lord!" gasps Peter. "Thank you! I am not deserving of this, my lord gives me more than I possibly -"

"Do not try too hard, or you will convince me that I need to murder you."

"Of course not, of course not, my lord!"

Voldemort laughs. "Wormtail, you are pathetic. If one of my servants were to come to me, I would not wish it to be you. However, you are here, and if you can aid me in my return to the Wizarding World, you shall be rewarded greatly. I only wonder if you are capable of that."

Peter's eyes shine with tears, though Lord Voldemort knows they aren't of devotion, just of the blend of fear and happiness he is alive.

"Of course, my lord!"

His voice wavers.

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><p>That day, Lord Voldemort leaves the Albanian forest.<p>

He does not return.

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><p><strong><strong>Thanks for reading!<strong>**

****-Summer :)****


	4. Nymphadora Tonks: The Midnight Shawl

**Written for Round 12 of QLFC for Keeper of the Tornados :) Based off of Cinderella!**

**Pairing: /Charlie W.**

**Rating: K+**

**Word Count: 1780**

**Hope you enjoy!  
><strong>

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><p>She wasn't certain why she had come.<p>

Oh, the dance was going all very well for the girls who adored pampering up and putting on dresses and styling hair (Tonks wouldn't know about that one) and wearing impossibly high heels and dancing all night with people they would not remember to speak to the next day; it was all very nice for _those _girls, but Nymphadora Tonks had spent precisely four minutes preparing for the ball, and that was all anyone needed to know about her perception of dances.

She uncrossed her legs and crossed them again, absentmindedly swirling her pumpkin juice in its goblet as she kept a sharp eye on her friend Maddie, who seemed to be dancing with a Slytherin. It wasn't as if she had anything better to do.

Tonks had half a mind to stomp up and tear Maddie away from the Slytherin, but she thought that might ruin her friend's night. Besides, dancing at a ball did not mean anything. It didn't matter that Maddie was possibly the most charming girl in the school; the next day, the Slytherin would forget her name (assuming he knew it in the first place), and vice versa.

She was just contemplating whether the Slytherin was a fourth, fifth, or seventh year (she knew he wasn't in their year) when she was interrupted by someone clearing his throat. Her eyes snapped to the left and met a pair of blue ones.

"Hi," said Charlie Weasley, his shocking red hair visible even in the dim light of the room. "Anyone sitting here?" He gestured at the empty seat next to her.

Tonks observed him for a moment. She knew him best as the Gryffindor Seeker who was in her year - very good at his position, very outgoing, and very good at Care of Magical Creatures. He was quite muscular and looked rather dashing in his slightly-battered dress robes. He was also very tall, which made her feel short, and Tonks didn't like to feel short.

"Go right on ahead," she said, even though she had almost never spoken to him before.

He sat down and wasted no time fumbling to strike up a conversation, which Tonks appreciated. "I've been meaning to ask about your hair," he said, gesturing to her long dark blue locks. "Well, your whole Metamorphmagus thing, actually. I know it's something you have to be born with, but could you show me how you do it?"

"Hm," she said, uncrossing her legs, still peering into the crowd at her friend. She got this a lot. It had used to be fun to scare the hell out of people by showing them sweet faces and hairstyles before randomly creating the most terrifying face she could think of and screaming at the top of her lungs; but even the best tricks get old. "It's not that impressive," she said at last.

"That's alright."

Tonks could feel his eyes on her even as she tapped her fingers on her chair and continued to (rudely, she realized) stare ahead at Maddie and her Slytherin. She glanced over, and he smiled a little. "Convince me to show you," she blurted out.

"Sorry?" Charlie Weasley leaned forward in his seat.

Tonks turned back to the crowd, wondering what she'd said herself, but thinking that she may as well run with the cat out of the bag. "Convince me," repeated Tonks lightly, craning her neck as a couple blocked her view of Maddie. She pulled a dark shawl around her, her mother's that she had borrowed for the night. She was careful not to spill any juice on it.

Charlie Weasley did not speak for a moment, and after a far too long pause, Tonks tore her eyes from Maddie yet again to glance at the Gryffindor. He was giving her the strangest look, the same look that she saw in his eyes before a Quidditch match. It held challenge, with a bit of humor in the browns of his eyes.

"How about we play a game, for me to convince you?" he offered, grinning.

Tonks watched him, the easy lift of the corner of his mouth, as if smiling was a habit of his that could not be suppressed. "Alright. What sort?" she asked as she returned her gaze to the crowd. Damnit. She'd lost them.

He followed her line of sight, evidently thinking. His face suddenly lifted up, and a mischievous smirk formed on his lips. "A _matching _game!"

"Pardon?"

"We're going to match people here," said Charlie very factually. "Whoever runs out of good matches loses."

Tonks scoffed, temporarily forgetting about Maddie as she faced Charlie. "Do you realize how many people are here, and how many matches we have available to make? We'll be sitting here all night."

"Ah, but there are only so many _good_ matches."

Tonks thought about declining, but she couldn't very well back down from a challenge. She smirked. "Alright. So what do I get if I win?"

"Straight to the point, aren't you?" Charlie grinned. "I'll have you know I'm quite good at this game, but if you, by chance, happen to win, then you can have something of your choice from me."

"I can hardly wait to choose," she said. "You want to go first?"

"Ladies first."

"Gladly. Patty Hendrick and Malik Peters."

"Pretty good. Yanelle Waters, Gregory Nott."

"Not bad," said Tonks, who had just spotted the two Slytherins and thought they were a good match, herself. "Daphne Tole, Walter Hyslop."

Charlie nodded, looked at the dance floor, and suddenly got a very mischievous smile on his face. "Maddie Adams and Rufus Martin," he said slyly.

Tonks nearly cracked her neck for how quickly she swiveled towards the spot Charlie had been looking at. She spotted her friend's pale blue dress. Maddie's face was flushed, and she was smiling as she and Rufus Martin made their way to the drinks.

"How do you know his name?" she demanded.

Charlie shrugged. "My brother Bill knew him and introduced me last year. He's a seventh year, now. Martin, I mean. My brother graduated."

Tonks gaped, not sure whether to stare at Rufus Martin or Charlie. "Is he - is he… _nice_? Rufus Martin, I mean."

Charlie shrugged again. "Fairly. Why?"

"Well, he's with my friend right now, and he's a Slytherin, isn't he?" Tonks turned back to the fairly-nice Rufus Martin.

"Yes," said Charlie. "But don't worry, he's not too bad of a bloke."

"Yes, but he's with Maddie," said Tonks. "She's charming and whatnot, but that makes her very _Hufflepuff-like_."

"You're a Hufflepuff," Charlie pointed out.

Tonks flapped her hand in the air. "Completely irrelevant. I'm not like the rest of the Hufflepuffs."

"Yes, I always thought you'd fit better in Gryffindor," Charlie mused aloud.

The thought that Charlie Weasley, from the Weasley clan who were all Gryffindors, thought she'd make a good Gryffindor just about made Tonks drop her goblet of pumpkin juice. "Don't be stupid," she blurted out.

"No, really," said Charlie seriously. "I've always thought that you'd be good in Gryffindor."

"You've barely talked to me before today," Tonks noted.

"Completely irrelevant," said Charlie with a grin. "You're good at Defense Against the Dark Arts. I think you'd be a nice Auror, actually."

"You think?" Tonks could not help but feel slightly flattered. She'd always been attracted to the prospect of being an Auror.

Charlie shrugged. "Yeah, I could see it."

"Thanks," Tonks said, and suddenly she felt her hair change color. She peered at her shoulder to see that it had taken a silvery blonde shade.

Charlie let out a whoop of surprise. "Your hair, it just changed," he said, grinning widely. "Did you make that happen?"

"No," said Tonks, pinching a lock of hair between her fingers. "I'm not quite sure why it changed."

She concentrated and shook her head, and her hair changed to a deep pink color instead, straightened out, but shorter in length.

"Wow," she heard Charlie breathe, and Tonks had the thought that there was something slightly comical about a burly type of guy being so fascinated with hair.

A thought occurred to her, and she looked up. "Unfair," she protested, changing her hair back to the dark blue style. "You didn't even win the game, and you got to see it."

Charlie grinned, putting a finger to his mouth. "Shh, it's alright."

Tonks rolled her eyes. "Cheater."

"Fine, fine, we'll keep playing. But I'm going to win anyway."

"You dream big, Weasley."

At the end of the night, according to Tonks, she'd won at least five favors/requests from Charlie. According to Charlie, he deserved to see her change her hair style, eye color, nose shape, mouth shape, and the position of a single freckle on her face.

At the end of the night, Tonks decided it had not been a bad idea to come, after all.

* * *

><p>Going to the ball had been a <em>terrible<em> idea, Tonks decided the next morning, when she woke up and realized that she was no longer in possession of her mother's black shawl. She pinpointed the precise moment she lost it - when she and Charlie had gone to get more drinks, and she'd left it hanging over the chair.

Her mother was going to kill her. Andromeda Tonks had brought very few items from her past, and the shawl happened to be one of the items that she couldn't bear to part with.

She burst out of the Great Hall, heading directly for Dumbledore's office. Perhaps he'd seen it? She was just about to round the corner when she heard her name.

"Tonks! Hey, Tonks!"

Charlie Weasley bound up to her, his bag slung over his shoulder. He reached into it, and pulled out a carefully folded square of black fabric. "Sorry, I was going to give you this earlier this morning, but I'm afraid I slept in."

"Oh, _thank you_," Tonks breathed out, taking the midnight shawl from him. She nearly sank to the floor in relief. "_Thank you_, I was positively dreading telling my mother about it."

"No problem," said Charlie. "I'm kind of glad I found it lying there. Gave me the chance to search for you."

"Right. I suppose you want your Metamorphmagus rewards, don't you?" Tonks smiled, carefully placing the shawl into her own bag.

"Of course. Though it would also be nice if you could accompany me on a walk across the school grounds." He looked at her so bashfully that Tonks blushed.

"Alright," she said.

And it was just about then that she decided that, indeed, going to the ball had not been a bad idea after all.

* * *

><p><strong>To be honest, I had about a million other ideas for this round of QLFC but I couldn't decide on one, and ended up writing, like, four different starts of one. This one ended up reaching the word count faster so I chose this for the competition, but I'm going to be posting a couple of the other Cinderella-based stories up, too.<strong>

**Not my proudest fanfic, but I hope you liked it!**

**xo Summer**


	5. RowenaSalazar: We Are Wizards

**Payday - **Birthday fic for Lizzy - _Prompt: founders_

* * *

><p>The first time Salazar Slytherin met Rowena Ravenclaw, he knew she was a strange one.<p>

It was because she stood like a noble's daughter even though she was but a peasant. It was because she had a wildly regal spark in her blue eyes. It was because her hair was impossibly long and got tangled in his feet when he walked past her.

Or maybe it was the fact that she had a brown stick that she would pull out when she thought nobody was looking, and then proceed to _wave_ it in the air.

And then strange _things_ would happen that Salazar could never explain to anyone but himself. Rocks would move, water would gush out of nowhere, trees would change colour in front of his eyes. Rowena's dress would transform to a black piece of clothing that hung over her shoulders and fit her loosely. Her hair would braid itself. A sparkling diadem worth more money than Salazar had seen in his life would appear on her head.

Yes, there was something strange about Rowena Ravenclaw, and Salazar fully intended to find out what it was.

* * *

><p>"I know you are there."<p>

He didn't move from behind the tree.

Footsteps approached. "I know you are there. Show yourself."

He breathed in. Breathed out. In. Out. In. Out.

"You are Salazar Slytherin. You have been watching me for the past month."

In. Out. What was that sweet taste in his mouth that had nothing to do with the spring air?

Her voice lowered to a whisper. "I do not understand why." And she rounded the tree and stared at him, rigidly waiting for her.

She was even more magnificent up close, and the spark in her eyes appeared to hold something more substantial than Salazar could see from afar - knowledge. His eyes traveled down to the pocket of her dress, where the tip of a stick could be seen.

Rowena's eyes followed his and she quickly stuffed the stick into her pocket, but it was too late. "What is that?"

"I am not entitled to tell you anything."

"I've seen you do things with it. Lift rocks. Change the tides. What is it?"

Rowena's face remained impassive but her deep eyes flickered. "You have seen nothing."

"No," persisted Salazar. "It's almost as if you were doing…" He trailed off and whispered the forbidden word. "_Magic_."

Rowena gave a sharp breath and stared at him as if realizing something. Her eyes raked his face and stopped at his eyes. Hers narrowed and she reached into her pocket and pulled out the stick.

"Touch it," she said softly. "Try."

His fingers moved towards the stick but stopped short of the smooth wood. He looked up at Rowena Ravenclaw's blue eyes once more - she nodded at him, and there was something about her earnest smile that made Salazar reach out his fingers and touch the wand.

An inexplicable feeling of warmth surged up from his fingertips to his hand to his arm to his heart and all over his body. The warmth was so personal and heartbreaking that he gasped.

Rowena observed this all with a critical eye.

"Do you know what this means?" she asked in her queenly voice.

Salazar shook his head, though he thought he did.

Rowena beamed at him, her blue eyes brilliant in the light sun. "You're a wizard, Salazar."

(It would be months before they found a man named Godric Gryffindor, and years before they found Helga Hufflepuff, but they would say the same words to them when they did.)


	6. Barty Crouch Jr: Smile

**Written for Arithmancy, Assignment 8 - **_Barty Crouch Jr./James Potter_

* * *

><p>Barty Crouch Jr. was nine when he first heard the name James Potter.<p>

His cousin Matthias was over at his house. Matthias Crouch was at least two times bigger than thin little Barty, but he was also two years older and had already gone to Hogwarts for half a year. Maybe they stuffed you so much at Hogwarts that you couldn't help but grow bigger. That was what Barty hoped, anyway. (At age 9, he was much smaller than children two years younger than him; this was an unbearably embarrassing fact.)

They sat on the old swing set in the Crouch's backyard while their parents gossiped inside the house. The tiny set, meant for kids smaller than even Barty, creaked under Matthias's weight as he recounted his first term at Hogwarts.

"It's a good thing I'm in Ravenclaw, because Mum wanted to me to go Gryffindor but Dad wanted me to go to Slytherin. Ravenclaws are a good in-between; Mum would've been alright with Hufflepuff, but not Dad."

It was a good thing that Matthias was a social person; if he wasn't, Barty was sure that they would have spent the entire reunion in stone silence.

"Mum and Dad don't care which house I get into," said Barty, kicking the sand at his feet.

"Lucky you. Remember the Black family? I think they're our cousins thrice removed or something. Anyway, they've got a boy in my year, his name's Sirius Black, and he got into _Gryffindor_."

Matthias emphasized the last word very strongly, and Barty looked up. From the satisfied look on his cousin's face, the fact that Sirius Black got sorted into Gryffindor was supposed to be a very shockworthy thing.

But Barty was only nine, and names like Sirius Black from families he didn't remember meant little to him. "Huh," he said, and went back to kicking at the ground.

"Yeah," said Matthias. "His parents were real mad about it."

"Huh."

"And to make things worse," Matthias continued, desperate to grab Barty's attention again, "Black became friends with _James Potter_."

"Huh. Who's that?"

Matthias hooted. "Only the best prankster at Hogwarts! Potter and Black have already gotten eight detentions _each_. And it's only been one term. And they're only in my year!"

"Dad wouldn't approve of that," Barty said, curling up onto his swing. "Aren't detentions _bad_?"

But Matthias was lost in the world of Potter and Black, and he launched into the tale of the duo's first prank, which they had performed on the second week of school.

Barty sighed and started to make animal shapes in the sand with his foot. He was only nine at the time, and names like James Potter meant little to him.

* * *

><p>He was eleven and still scrawny when he first saw James Potter. It was his very first day at Hogwarts (Potter had never been able to stay out of the spotlight, had he?), and poor Barty had the misfortune to trip on his way up the Grand Staircase - which, by the way, was <em>moving<em> - and was currently hanging onto the railing for dear life as he lay sprawled and awkward at the bottom of the moving staircase.

No one moved to help him despite his grunts - perhaps they were all too caught up in the novelty of coming to Hogwarts to notice skinny Barty struggling to lift his left leg onto the staircase. And then…

"Look! That firsty's hanging off the staircase!"

"Reckon he can hold on, James?"

"Well, he's half-on, half-off, so I would suppose he'd be strong enough to keep from falling, eh? What do you think, Moony?"

"I'm quite certain the staircase isn't going to _let_ him fall off…"

"Oi, first-year! Want some help?"

At this point, everybody on Barty's staircase had stopped talking and were staring curiously at the staircase beside them, which was facing the opposite direction and moving up at a very quick pace. Barty craned his head to take a look at the group of boys who'd been talking, but his neck became sore and he gave up and focused on pulling himself up.

The fellow Ravenclaws on his staircase were more sympathetic to his plight now that the other boys had pointed him out; hands grabbed Barty's thin arms and hoisted him onto his feet. "Thanks," he muttered, fixing his robes and smoothing down his hair.

"Well," laughed one of the boys from the staircase next door, "see you later then, firsties."

The staircase soared upwards, and one of the Ravenclaws whispered, "They're going to Gryffindor."

Barty blinked and spun around to look at the rising staircase. It attached to another staircase and the group of four boys on it ran into a corridor and out of sight.

"Who was that?" he questioned aloud. The girl next to him sighed dreamily as she also stared at the corridor where the boys had disappeared in.

"I heard about them," she explained. "They call themselves the Marauders. They're the best pranksters in the school."

This sounded familiar to Barty, but he couldn't quite place it. "Huh," he said, pulling his eyes from the corridor.

"Sirius Black is _so_ cute," the girl continued. "And I think James Potter's pretty handsome too."

Barty nodded mutely (he wasn't certain how to respond to that) but his eyes travelled up the walls and to the tiny opening that evidently led to the Gryffindor Tower.

"James Potter," he said aloud, pronouncing each syllable with care. He then quickly added, "Sirius Black."

* * *

><p>It was Barty's thirteenth birthday, and he was in the kitchens. Being among the house-elves and ordering food reminded him of home. He listened to the soft chatter of the house elves while he dined on a sandwich and pumpkin juice.<p>

The painting leading into the kitchens suddenly swung open, and the chatter fell silent as a boy with incredibly messy hair and round glasses tumbled in, laughing loudly.

The calm chatter turned into shrieks of "Mr. Potter!", "Master James!", "What can we get for you?", and "Be careful!"

Barty watched in wonder as the house elves swarmed around James Potter, their large eyes glassy orbs of admiration and devotion. When Barty'd walked in, the elves had been polite and cheerful, but none of them had been as dedicated as his own elf Winky was. Potter's appearance, however, transformed the elves.

"Oh hey, Okky, feeling better? How's your foot doing, Hoffy?"

As James scanned the elves' faces, he spotted Barty sitting at the little coffee table, his sandwich halfway to his mouth.

James waded out of the sea of elves, which had thinned because half of them had left to presumably fetch food for the Gryffindor. He plopped down in the seat across from Barty and said, "You're Crouch, right? Ravenclaw?"

Barty nodded, and the older boy leaned back and stretched his arms. "Well, I'd introduce myself, but I think you probably know who I am."

Barty _did_ know - of course he knew, of course the entire school knew - but the cockiness in the way James smirked was slightly irritating, so he lied and made an innocently baffled face. "I-I _think_ you're Potter, but I'm not sure."

James raised an eyebrow and shrugged. Barty could not help but notice the broadness of his shoulders, which one couldn't see from far away, because Potter was so scrawny-looking.

"Eh, at least you know that. I'm James."

"Barty."

"Ooh, nice name," he said, nodding. "Hey, can I have a bite of your sandwich?"

Startled at the random request, Barty handed the sandwich over. As James took a bite, Barty immediately regretted it; he looked on in horror as the Gryffindor's single bite took away half of what was left.

"Owry," James said through his mouthful of food. "I ahke bihg ites."

"It's okay," said Barty grudgingly.

"Hey." Potter swallowed and squinted at him. His eyes widened and he looked at Barty with sudden disgust. Barty squirmed in his seat; he thought he knew what was coming. "Do you - Are you one of the guys who hang out with _Snivellus_ and Avery and that lot of nasty snakes?"

Coldness washed over his skin and he stared at his plate. "What of it?" Barty muttered. He took a bite of his sandwich.

"But you're a Ravenclaw," said James pointedly.

"So?"

He let out a long breath and his voice hardened. "They're an evil lot. Nasty Slytherins." The Gryffindor glowered, and Barty noticed that his face had transformed into a cruel scowl.

The sudden change in James Potter's face was both fascinating and terrifying. Barty stared at his hazel eyes that were cold with contempt and tried to couple them with the sparkles of mischief he'd seen just moments before. He couldn't tear his eyes away from Potter.

He was half-thankful, half-disappointed when a house elf popped out of nowhere and announced, "Food's all ready, Mister Potter!"

James leapt to his feet and brushed past Barty's table. He emerged holding a large basket of carefully wrapped sandwiches with glass bottles of pumpkin juice lining the sides.

"Thanks, everyone," James called out. "The boys say thanks as well."

The elves beamed at him and as Barty looked around, the adoration the elves had for James was startlingly evident.

Just before James stepped out of the portrait, he turned a little and glanced out of the corners of his eyes. For a moment, he did nothing but stare at the Ravenclaw, almost as if evaluating him.

At last, he said quietly, "You don't want to hang around them, Crouch. They're not a good lot. Get out while you can."

He could not spit out his retort, even as James slowly turned and hopped out of the painting's entrance. Part of him wanted to sneer at Potter and tell him he was wrong, that Mulciber and Avery were fine if a little rude, but at least they'd accepted him into their group without question. The other half of him was dazed and silenced at the sight of James's quick smile as he gently closed the painting shut.

It wasn't the nicest smile Barty had ever seen, but it was the most sincere one he'd ever seen on James Potter, and that was enough to make him begin to look for it in the Great Hall, in the Courtyard, at Hogsmeade. Looking for James Potter's smile beneath his cocky airs and arrogant smirks became a habit.

It was the smile that started both of their downfalls.

* * *

><p>Third year passed, fourth year flew by, and Barty Crouch found himself a fifth year, James Potter a seventh year.<p>

During the previous two years, Barty had discovered more friends, among them Regulus Black, and had begun to sit at the Slytherin table rather than the Ravenclaw table. His housemates had never really liked him anyway, and they made a point to ignore him whenever he walked into the Ravenclaw Tower (which only happened twice a day anyway).

The circle of Slytherins that accepted Barty grew larger as he spent more time among green and silver. He began to stuff his Ravenclaw tie into his bag after classes; eventually, Lestrange nicked a Slytherin tie off a first year who'd been sitting with a Gryffindor by the lake, and gave it to Barty, who wore it much more than he did his Ravenclaw one.

In fact, the only time he took of the Slytherin tie off when he was out of class was when the Marauders came around.

"Well look who's here," Mulciber whispered under his breath one day as they loitered by the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

Barty, who was the shortest of the group, was the last to see the familiar gaggle of four boys leaping and galloping down the path. While the Slytherins snorted and smirked, Barty squinted and strained to see the familiar shock of black hair that stood up in messy points on his head. There was Black, there was that Lupin fellow, there was Peter, and there, _there_ he was…

He quickly turned around and stared at the thick trees just a few feet away. How easy it would be to slip in there so that James Potter wouldn't notice him. How easy it would be to hide…

But hiding meant that he probably wouldn't be able to hear Potter's voice, and the thought cemented his feet to the ground. Barty lingered in the back as his group began on their course of collision with Potter's.

The feet in front of him stopped, and Barty shut his eyes and stayed very still and waited.

"Well, well," said a voice, said _the_ voice. "A bunch of slimy old snakes, eh?"

James had said worse, much worse, about his group but even this made Barty shift uncomfortably on his feet. He forced himself to focus less on the words and more on the deep voice as he peered through tiny gaps between people until he could see James's glasses and his face.

His lips were curled into a sneer as he continued, "Look, Sirius, they've got to have ten people to beat the four of us."

"Weak," spat Black. "No wonder Regulus joined your lot."

"We'd take him over you any day, Black," snarled Avery.

"Why even Peter could beat the hell outta you, right Peter?" continued James.

At this, a Slytherin burst into loud, raucous laughter. Someone nudged him to stop; it was to be a secret that Pettigrew would sometimes join the older Slytherins' talks about the Dark Lord, whom Barty had already pledged allegiance to when he was older. Peter had always been the weakling of the Marauders; perhaps that was why the Slytherins always let him stay.

"Y-yes," stumbled Peter, but he was looking at the ground.

"Well," said Lupin, stepping forward with his wand idly twirling in his hand, "we'd love to stay and chat, but we've got to get going."

"Wait," said James, and he took a step forwards, scanning the group of Slytherins. His eyes landed on Barty in the back, who stared back at Potter with what he hoped looked like disgust. Yet some part of him begged James to look behind his set face and see something else, see the same something that would make him smile like _that_ again.

James's hazel eyes traveled down to Barty's tie, which was green and silver. A smile rose to his face, but it was not the smile Barty had sometimes managed to find at the breakfast table or at Zonko's. It was a sarcastic one, saved especially for people like himself.

"I see that you've become desperate enough to rope in other houses into your bunch," said James.

"He sees more sense than you do, blood-traitor," someone snorted.

"That's a shame," said James and he turned and led his group down the pathway towards the oaf's cabin.

Long after Potter had gone, Barty stood in front of a group of cheering Slytherins, making his own raging commentaries about the Marauders and their nerve and how he'd love to bloody kill them-

But the anger faded by morning, and when Barty entered the Great Hall, his eyes still instinctively flicked over to the Gryffindor table. _No more than a second_, he reminded himself, and this was generally an easy rule to follow, because Barty knew exactly where the Marauders sat every day, and he knew exactly what to expect.

Or so he thought, that fateful morning.

The first thing he noticed that was different was that James was smiling - _really_ smiling, showing off his teeth and everything, and it was the smile that sent warm shivers down Barty's spine. He would've been content to turn and cherish that smile, but the second thing he saw was James Potter's arm around a grinning Lily Evans.

He ate most of his meals in the kitchens from that day on.

* * *

><p>Barty was nineteen and out of Hogwarts when he was called in by the Dark Lord to execute a special mission.<p>

"You've shown your loyalty when I rose to power," the Lord'd said. "I trust you will do anything to ensure that power does not fall."

And he would. He, along with several others including Bellatrix Lestrange, would leave for Frank and Alice Longbottom's house in ten minutes to kill or torture them to death.

"Little Frank Longbottom," Bellatrix sneered as they waited for the signal to leave. "Oh, I can't wait to get my hands on him…"

"Kill their son, if he's home," added an older Death Eater that Barty didn't know.

"I call dibs on the woman," someone sneered.

"I call the kid," said Rodolphus Lestrange.

His wife turned on him, her beady black eyes flashing. "As long as I get the Potter kid next time."

Barty wasn't the only one who froze at that, but he was certain he was the only one whose heartbeat pumped wildly in his chest as he blurted out, "The _Potter_ kid?"

"Are we attacking the Potters too?"

"Oh, I should have known you lowly servants wouldn't know. The Dark Lord naturally trusts me with more information," Bellatrix said, cackling.

Barty took a step towards her, his hand tightening around his wand. He'd lost control of his breathing, he'd lost control of his mind, and he was going to lose control of his heart's erratic pumping if she didn't answer him. Images of all the muggle and wizard houses they'd barged into and attacked flooded his mind. The Potters. The Potters. "We're attacking the _Potters_? As in Lily Potter and-"

"-James Potter?" someone butted in. (Barty was grateful for it. Surely his voice would have shaken if it had been him to say his name…)

"I remain the Dark Lord's most loyal servant," Bellatrix smirked, taking her time to answer. "He'll tell you when he wants to, if he ever does."

Barty would have lunged at her, demanding why they were attacking the _Potters_ (he'd just remembered what they'd done at the Prewetts'), but at that very moment, Bellatrix turned her head and said in a low voice, "It's time."

* * *

><p>Bellatrix didn't get Frank Longbottom after all. It was Barty who was left with the man he'd seen as Head Boy back in Hogwarts. Longbottom was gripping his wand tightly, and he was agile and clever, but there were two men upon one, and for some reason, Frank kept on throwing desperate glances over his shoulder and screaming out, "ALICE, GET AWAY!"<p>

As Barty threw spell after spell upon the man who was now writhing on the floor, he knew that both he and Longbottom could hear Bellatrix racing up the stairs, cackling as she and her husband finally pounced upon their prey.

The Death Eater Barty was with shot one last Cruciatus Curse before shouting, "I'm going to go look for the kid!"

"No-" Frank Longbottom began, but Barty quickly silenced him into another bout of screams.

With every step towards Frank's writhing body, Barty's breaths grew heavier and heavier. His wand arm fell to his side and he stood over Longbottom with his arms and legs shaking.

_This will be Potter_, he thought. _This will be James on the floor. I will do this to Potter._

And then - he didn't know how it happened - he was holding Frank Longbottom up against the wall - the lamp had cracked and Longbottom's messy hair suddenly looked very black - with his wand pointed at his throat and screaming, "SMILE! SMILE, YOU USELESS GRYFFINDOR, SMILE-"

* * *

><p>Less than forty miles away, James Potter put his arm around his wife as they contentedly sat on the couch and watched their child crawl on the floor with their cat. He gently kissed Lily's red hair and reached down to pat Harry's head.<p>

"Little tyke," he murmured as Harry laughed and clutched one of the cat's toys to his chest.

James Potter leaned back into the couch and smiled.


	7. Harry Potter and the Centaurs' Alliance

**Written for Hogwarts Rescue the Story, Assignment 3**

* * *

><p>The forest was fast becoming dark and the various creatures were coming to life. Mysterious birds hooted in the distance, and every now and then, they heard footsteps running by. Harry, Ron, and Hermione walked for miles as they searched for a way out.<p>

"What's that over there? We've walked past that before!"

They had been walking around in circles rather than moving forward.

"We need a plan," said Hermione.

Ron was quickly becoming irritated in the surroundings, moaning and jumping at every little sound.

"What's that?" he cried, pointing to the floor. A spider, no bigger than a common mouse, was roaming inches away from him.

Hermione whipped out her wand and vanished it, knowing the effect spiders had on him.

The footsteps in the distance were coming closer, but Hermione said they should walk in their direction.

"Why should we?" Ron moaned.

"Because if we carry on on this trail, we'll be stuck anyway. We haven't really got anything to lose."

It was with great trepidation that Ron finally agreed (not that Hermione waited for him to do so), but eventually the three turned their wands to the dense trees and cautiously stepped off the path towards the sounds of the footsteps.

Harry naturally assumed the lead (he had the quickest reactions), but Ron was the first to hear the noise that accompanied the faint footsteps.

"What's that?" He came to an abrupt stop. The light from the tip of his wand illuminated Ron's face, contorted with fear.

Harry tilted his head. His eyes widened as he heard the sharp clicking noises that were coming from not far off, because he recognized them. Ron must have also, and Hermione appeared to be confused, but that was because she hadn't been there last time -

"I'm sure it's nothing," Hermione said uncertainly, even as Ron tensed and Harry lifted his wand towards the left, where the footsteps and clicks were getting louder and louder.

Suddenly, something burst forth from the trees. Hermione let out a terrified shriek while Ron stumbled backwards. Harry extinguished his wand and squinted.

The footsteps had evidently not been a human's. In fact, they hadn't been footsteps at all.

The centaur barrelled past them. It didn't seem to notice Harry, Ron, and Hermione standing there, petrified. Blood ran down the sides of its body and all of the centaur's legs were heavily scratched.

Harry gasped as the centaur ran past. He leaned forward to get a better look, but he was only able to notice that this was a young centaur before the spider appeared.

He must have grown a lot over the past two summers, Harry mused, because the spiders didn't seem so massive anymore. Perhaps it was because he'd seen Aragog, the king of the spiders and therefore the largest of them.

But behind him, Ron and Hermione both screamed. Harry turned to tell them to shut up before the spider saw them (if it hadn't already, with any of its eight red eyes), but something caught his eye. Further ahead, the young male centaur suddenly collapsed mid-stride.

Harry spun towards the spider, but it had already begun moving towards the centaur. Its eyes were pulsing red as it approached its prey.

Harry didn't think. He only knew that the young centaur didn't deserve to die.

"_STUPEFY!"_ Harry roared.

The red jet of light hit the spider. For a moment, it froze and Harry sighed in relief - but then it began to move again, faster than before.

"Hermione! Ron!" he shouted. "Give me your wands -"

Hermione whimpered but tossed him her wand immediately. Ron, on the other hand, was paralyzed with fear. His wand was clutched in his hand as he muttered to himself, "Can't be real… can they really be so big?"

Harry wrestled Ron's wand out of his hand and held the three towards the spider. He willed all his power into his right hand as the spider swooped towards the fallen centaur, and shouted, "Stupefy!"

This time, the combined force of three wands did not fail him. The spider went flying into the trees. Harry stared after it in shock until he remembered, with a jar, the centaur.

He rushed towards the spot the centaur had fallen, Hermione in his footsteps (Ron had sunken to the ground, most likely in sheer relief). But when Harry arrived to the spot he thought the centaur had been, it was gone. There were only small spots of blood to indicate that it had been there before.

"It was just here," he said, peering through the trees. "I saw it fall."

Hermione, who was still shaking a little, said, "It must have gotten away."

"But I just saw him…"

Hermione suddenly gasped. "Harry! The castle, I can see it!"

"What?" Harry looked towards where Hermione was pointing. Indeed, through the gaps of the trees, Hogwarts's bright lights shone in the dark sky. "Hey! Look, we can go back now."

"Ron!" Hermione called. "Come on, let's go!"

As the three started back towards the castle, Harry took one last look around the trees. He could have sworn that the centaur had been here, but since it was nowhere to be found, it must have escaped.

He sighed. As he turned back, he thought he saw something move in the shadows to his right. When he looked, though, there was nothing there. It must have been the trick of the light.

* * *

><p>As the three young humans trampled their way to the exit of the Forbidden Forest, two pairs of eyes stayed locked upon them. Rather, locked upon one of them - the one with green eyes and black hair and, evidently, a pure heart.<p>

"What did I tell you?" Firenze the centaur said in a pleased voice. "Harry Potter's a rare human. He just saved a centaur without any doubt in his actions."

Bane scoffed. "It wasn't like your cousin was in any real danger. We were right here to stop the stupid spider if anything happened." Even as he sneered, his eyes were fixed upon the back of Harry's head.

Firenze noted this with satisfaction. "True as that may be, Harry Potter did not know that. He chose to save my little cousin." He smiled. "He shows respect in that aspect."

The older centaur rolled his dark eyes. "And what's to say that Harry Potter wouldn't turn on us like he did that spider? You are forgetting that he used magic on that spider, Firenze. What if he used magic on _us_?"

Firenze only smirked. "Bane, believe me. One day, you will see. If freedom from the dark forces soon to come is worth fighting for, Harry Potter is worth fighting for."

* * *

><p>Three years later, it would be none other than Bane who would lead the centaurs into the Battle of Hogwarts.<p>

When asked why his decision was so, his only reply would be, "Harry Potter is the kind of wizard who would save a dying centaur without an audience. Now, when the whole world is watching us, must we deny him of the same courtesy?"

And this is the fable of Harry Potter and the Centaurs' Alliance.


End file.
